Bones in the Belfry (25 page)

‘Not really,’ came the reply. ‘My leaves of absence are always planned well in advance. I am not one for leaping about at the drop of a hat.’

‘Well, neither am I,’ I replied hastily, ‘it’s just that I’ve been under a bit of pressure lately and could do with some
time out –
as our American friends would say!’

‘I suppose in plain English that means you want to skive off.’

‘Oh, come – that’s putting it a trifle brutally! Besides, you might recall that I was quite useful at your fête this year –’

‘How about next year?’

‘Oh yes, absolutely. That’s on!’

There was a pause. And then in a tone which for Pick sounded almost bright, he said, ‘Well, tell you what – I’ll lend you Barry. It’s time he got from under my feet. He can easily take a few services at your place – even do some house calls. In fact, come to think of it, if he were to arrive in time for Matins he could stay on till well after Evensong –
every
day.’

I thanked him for his most selfless offer, and in response to further insistent probing assured him of my presence at the wretched spring fête.

First hurdle over. The second was Primrose. Would she board the animals? Probably not. But nothing ventured …

To my amazement, and in view of the chinchilla fracas, Primrose was vaguely agreeable.

‘Well, if you must you must, I suppose. But a week is my absolute maximum: the dog’s all right, but I wouldn’t be able to stand that peculiar cat for any longer! Yes, bring them down … and then while you’re here you could also give the garden a good going over.’

‘Yes,’ I replied meekly. ‘Of course I could.’

Celebration all round! Much to do: maps to be consulted, accommodation booked, the motor prepared, parishioners notified. But first of all a grateful gin, a couple of gaspers, and this time a really good go on the keys! I summoned Bouncer in readiness for the performance. He came in toting his rubber ring, pottered over to the piano, and sat down with a look of benign expectancy. I raised my hands, poised for a spate of sparkling arpeggios … and then dropped them in my lap as the doorbell shrilled.

The dog barked and I cursed. However, thinking it might be Savage bearing fresh fairy cakes, I went into the hall hoping he might have time to share the gin, and along with Bouncer, enjoy the music. So beaming genially, I flung open the door.

Samson, not Savage, stood in the porch.

‘Good evening, sir,’ he intoned nasally. ‘Was just passing. Thought you’d like to hear the news.’

‘Oh yes?’ I said jovially. ‘Has one of my raffle tickets come up trumps? Or have you won the police prize for best salesman?’

He looked at me without expression.

‘No, sir. No, I don’t think either of those apply … You see, they’ve opened it again.’

‘Opened it? Opened what?’ I asked, still smiling.

‘The Fotherington case, the murder in Foxford Wood – they’ve reopened it. Just thought you might like to know, seeing as how you were a close friend of the deceased …’ And this time, it was he who smiled.

A Load of Old Bones